#loosely base on dps idk sjdhjd

[dreamiesdotcom]

paper plane | z.cl

Summary: There are five important truths about Zhong Chenle that you knew, and one important thing about him that he didn’t.

Word Count: 2.1k

One: His touch gives life to sparks, something electric and safe on your skin.

The bus ride was just a normal part of your day until a boy sits beside you. He greets you with a wide smile, far too happy for the early hours of the morning, and then he introduces himself: “I’m Zhong Chenle, but you can just call me Chenle.”

“Y/N,” you try to be nice, forcing an awkward smile. He doesn’t bring his hands down, so you arch a brow, “What?”

“You never shared a handshake with anyone?”

“What?”

“Heavens.” He sighs heavily, bringing his hands down. “You’re my friend now.”

You study his face — cherubic, too pretty, too outgoing, too happy. Overall, energetic and you can’t keep up, so you shake your head no.

“C'mon! Be my friend!” He whines, and you wonder how he’s acting so close to you when you literally just met. You look at him with a serious stare, and he rolls his eyes, “Fine. Shake my hand or be my friend. Choose.”

He raises his hands again, and you grumble, taking it to yours. Then, you pull away quickly, as if burned. Chenle sulks.

Silently, panic rises from inside of you — were you supposed to feel this warm? One touch of his and you feel on fire. It’s like being suffocated, slowly being eaten by an invisible flare, and yet, you feel fine with the difficulty of breathing that comes with burning into ashes from within.

###

Two: He is the most beautiful when he’s happy.

Who knew that the boy on the bus would be such a herculean twist to your monochrome life? Back then, you hid behind the shades, but then Chenle came along and followed you — sunlight follows him, so you got used to the brightness of days. His eyes turn into happy little crescents, his smile an instant summer.

He’s sweet, and soft, and it’s so heartbreaking to see him break.

You were throwing paper planes around the rooftop when you heard a sob. Slowly, you approached him. You squint at the darkness, the figure startling slightly at the sudden intrusion. You pick your plane up, clearing your throat.

“Y/N?” The voice calls.

You try to make the image in the dark, then try to remember whose voice it was — “Chenle?”

You finally see him, sitting in the dark and leaning on the railings. Beside him is a box, a familiar thing sitting beside him. You remember seeing it on his bedside table.

“It’s uh. Gift. My parents. It’s my birthday, ” he tries to smile, a pathetic attempt. “I guess I have two of it now?”

You try to meet his gaze, although he keeps on trying to look away. You smile, studying the snow globe — it is, without any doubt, the very same gift he got for last year.

“That’s an odd-looking paper plane.” An evil spark glints in your eyes, it’s beautiful nonetheless. “Wanna see how well it flies?”

He remembers a scene from his favorite movie, and watches as it crashes on the floor and breaks.

Chenle never felt so alive, and you never saw him this close: brighter than the sun and blindingly beautiful. His laughter rings as the two of you try to clean it up, and the happiness in him doesn’t fade even when you almost get caught by the security.

He’s bright, way brighter than the sun, and it’s so hard to look at him — but then again, it’s so much harder to look away.

###

Three: He has the voice of an angel.

Chenle insisted on walking together today, and as usual, you can’t refuse him.

The light rain is kind of annoying, now that you’re outside, and your only form of protection is this tiny umbrella — literally tiny umbrella — and even if you’re this close to him, you might as well just ditch the whole thing and be under the rain and there won’t be much difference. It’s just that there’s this book you carried today; it absolutely can’t get wet, not even a droplet.

“This is useless,” he frowns. “Let’s just find a waiting shed and let the rain pass.”

You nod silently, calming your heartbeat because it’s so cold outside and you’re almost drenched, but he’s so warm and he shouldn’t be. Comfort shouldn’t be found in uncertain places, much like a person’s company.

People are so inclined to change. It’s terrifying to find solace in them.

You find a shed after three minutes, and you stay there in silence for ten. The unwavering rain just gets heavier and heavier with each passing moment, and you shiver in the cold.

Chenle watches you with curious eyes and takes his jacket from his bag.

“Here—,” he drapes it around you, watching you shiver as you wear the sleeves.

“I'm… I’m sorry,” you say, stuttering. “I… I can’t… refuse… refuse this.”

“No need to be sorry,” he laughs. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve listened to you when you said we should take the bus instead.”

You try to laugh too, but you’re shaking so badly. You feel your head throbbing, falling into a dizzy haze. Your shivers don’t calm down, and you let Chenle hug you close to him for warmth. He hums a foreign tune as if to comfort you.

Hearing him sing is like first love, the kind that stays. The kind that doesn’t walk away because they’re so afraid to be loved.

The kind that he deserves, the kind you’ll never be able to give.

###

Four: He’s a little too perfect for this world.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” you weakly say, letting him help you sit up anyway. Your roommate is out somewhere, and Chenle let himself in to take care of you. “I really, really don’t want you to see me like this.”

“You’re still beautiful,” he smiles, and even if you don’t believe him, it does make you feel better. “Mom made you soup. Can you eat by yourself?”

You don’t think you can without a little difficulty, but you say ‘yes’ anyway.

The food itself is great — it’s refreshing for you who always had takeout, and it tasted like home in some way. Then, you remember his birthday — how sad he was that he’s celebrating alone with an expensive thing they already mindlessly gifted him twice. It makes something unpleasant swirl in your chest.

As you eat, Chenle busies himself with tidying up up the room. After several minutes of silence, it’s him who breaks it anyway.

“Hey,” he starts, “What does Agape mean?”

“Agape?”

“Yeah,” he says with finalization. “Do you know what it means?”

“Selfless love,” you mutter under your breath. “There’s no use in knowing that word.”

He pauses his movements, places down the book, and makes his way back to sit beside you. You place the food on the bedside table, drinking the medicine he gave you. Then, you look in his direction as he asks: “Why?”

“Do you really think someone can learn how to love and be selfless at the same time?”

There’s way too much bitterness in your words for your heart to not be broken. He doesn’t know what kind of feeling it is that stirs deep inside him, but he doesn’t like it, and he must be beyond stupid to even dare to ask; “Have you ever fallen in love?”

Yes, you thirst to answer. More than I’m supposed to be capable of.

It’s a strong force, and it’s unknown. The urge to answer yes is an unscratchable itch under your skin, tearing through your bones and violently ripping your insides. Yes, I do fall in love — so many times that it’s unhealthy, you want to say, you want to open up, but it’s scary. It’s terrifying to give someone that kind of power over you.

Giving someone that kind of control… that kind of leverage…oh, how sweetly it could ruin you.

All that will follow after destruction, not so sweet anymore. Not so sweet at all.

“I fall in love with hopeless people,” you carelessly say, as if it’s any better than a simple 'yes’. At the very end, you unfold anyway.

The things he does.

The things he makes you do.

The things you do for him, anyway.

You muffle a laugh, “And maybe it says more about me than it does for the ones I fall for.”

But maybe you’re in love with him, too, and he’s far away from hopeless. Instead, he’s a fairytale — too good to be true, to loved to let go of even with time, too perfect to forget. He is new, he is unknown.

And heaven knows how much you feared what you didn’t understand.

###

Five: He loves you.

The first time you felt what utter heartbreak it is to know emptiness, it’s from seeing a happy family at a park. A little boy just your age is being cooed upon by his parents. Your gut swirled with jealousy then, even envy, and then unsatisfied greed; you want and want and want. You can’t do anything about it, but you want it so bad it tears you. Your mother ushers you back into the car with a stoic face.

Tonight is like many of the past nights. You sit on the rooftop wondering what it’d feel like to tip over, sad for no reason at all — there is a reason, you don’t admit it — like most days. You thrive and unfold in solitude. You cry in that place.

He shouldn’t be there at all, but Chenle watches carefully.

“Why are you here?” Your voice breaks, the weakest he’s ever heard it. He himself wants to cry.

“Because I like you,” he whispers more to the air than himself, neither of you wanting to hear anything but also craving so badly to just say it and get it over with. Chenle manages a heartwrenching smile, “I… I hate seeing you like this.”

“Well, this is me. Not all the time, but it’s me nonetheless — see? I’m no good for you,” you laugh, and it kind of hurts but it’s kind of true. Less of you would be good for him. None of him would be best for you because you won’t even have to think of trying to be any good at all.

“Like has no commitment. Don’t hold onto something so vulnerable.”

Again there’s that bitterness lacing your words, but this time, they’re not out of spite. They’re out of experience — from a heart that’s been torn to pieces and mended itself despite not wanting to heal. He knows you come with wounds, but now, he sees, and he doesn’t know how to handle it, and he hates himself for it, but he can’t do anything but look — he looks at you with such gentle gaze, a dull throb in his heart; except it’s not dull, except it’s killing him.

He smiles, “I’m here for you, anyway.”

He stands in front of you for a while. You stare blankly.

Once, you’ve thought there’s only so many ways to break a person’s heart. The worst as you’ve heard is to leave them alone with a broken heart, and make them realize there’s no way to mend it — but they do say that it wouldn’t be easy. Their true selves are guarded. There are way too many walls built around their hearts, sheltering it away from people’s prying eyes.

But maybe, just maybe, as you watch Chenle turn away with such blue in his eyes, hearts can break behind steel walls. Hearts are fragile little things, after all, and no faux security can save them from that fact.

Zhong Chenle is a particularly delicate boy.

###

Can you ever love someone so much? Something bigger and deeper than what shallow it felt to others, a greater force than gravity and life. Can you ever love someone like that?

Watching the nightlife like this is one of your favorite past time. To be alive so peacefully is a dream of yours, and that kind of peace can only be found when most people are asleep.

Emptiness felt heavy but so does whatever this is. Chenle looked as beautiful as his soul, and it doesn’t matter if this is just a sick trick of light — angel wings wrap around him, keeping him safe from what heartbreak you are.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he whispers, hands an inch away from yours.

You remain looking up at the stars you’ve told stories of him, and you smile: “I don’t love you.”

Painful silence and nasty lies. The lines blur yet again and your world feels like crashing down but oh—oh, how right it felt to break for him.

It was blind hope and you were selfish, but you trusted him to know.

“I know,” he says, “I know that you don’t love me.”

And he didn’t.

(Six: You love him back.)